


dinner for eight

by ORiley42



Series: put a ring on it [2]
Category: Ocean's 8 (2018)
Genre: Banter, Engagement, F/F, Flirting, Fluff and Humor, Friendship
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-07-26
Updated: 2018-07-26
Packaged: 2019-06-16 21:20:44
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,543
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15446106
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ORiley42/pseuds/ORiley42
Summary: Lou & Debbie’s engagement dinner, feat. The Crew.





	dinner for eight

**Author's Note:**

> Y’all were so, so, so generous with your comments on my last fic, it inspired me to continue on in this ‘verse! Thank you for all your kind words <3

“Ooh, what’s this?” Constance crowed from the mezzanine overlooking the main floor of Lou’s loft. There was a clink of metal and Tammy’s admonishing tones floated down, “Put that back, it’s clearly personal…”

“If they didn’t want me to see it, they shouldn’t have left it in a safe with such loud-ass tumblers,” Constance countered.  

“I don’t recall putting anything of interest in that antique lock box,” Lou said to Debbie, eyebrow rising under her razor-sharp bangs as she arranged plates around the dining room table.

“Oops, I might have,” Debbie said, in the least convincing tone of apology she’d ever employed, “how careless of me.”

Amita peered over Tammy’s shoulder to get a look at whatever was holding her friends’ interest, before shouting down to Debbie and Lou, “Just a tip: if you keep inviting fellow thieves over for Sunday dinner, you might want to invest in a safe that was made in the last century. Unless you _want_ us reading your weird hobo magpie love diary thing-y.”  

“Could they possibly be viewing a highly embarrassing collection of tawdry notes I wrote my erstwhile lover whilst she was incarcerated?” Lou asked sharply.

“Great guess,” Debbie enthused, “Did you ever think about working a psychic scam?”

“No, but I am considering…” Lou trailed off, then held up a finger and pulled out her phone, “hold on, I need to google it.”

“Ay, Lou,” Constance called over the banister, “these are cheesy as hell. Like, full-parmesan mushy madness.”

“I am aware. Which is why I’m going to commit…aha!” Lou raised her phone triumphantly, “Uxoricide!”

“Bless you,” Tammy said mildly.

“No, uxoricide is the word for the murder of one’s wife, AKA, what I’m going to do to Debbie.”

“But we’re not married yet,” Debbie pointed out, sensibly, “So, are you going to wait until after we’re married to kill me? Because otherwise, it would just be normal murder, and you wouldn’t get to use your fancy word when you’re arrested.”

“That’s a valid critique,” Lou agreed. “Would you prefer to be dismembered before or after our nuptials? I’m flexible.”

“Dismemberment, now? Jeez, I better watch out next time I forget to take out the garbage…” Debbie kidded, sliding in close to Lou. She slowly reached her hand up, in the manner of one attempting to pet an unfed lion, towards Lou’s cheek.

Lou glared coolly at the hand, but ultimately deigned to let her fiancé gently cup her jaw, tilting her head towards her so she could say quietly, “Don’t worry, I took out the really personal ones. But I couldn’t resist sharing some of them with the girls, I mean, just look at Rose!” Debbie jerked a thumb up at the fashionista, who’d ascended the stairs to see what all the fuss was about and was now apparently overcome with emotion, flinging herself onto a nearby chaise lounge and clutching her heart. “How could I keep that from our friends?”

Lou heaved a put-upon sigh. “I suppose I haven’t been doing the best job convincing them I’m a cold, heartless bastard with no emotional soft spots anyway.”

“It’s true. Plus, you just look so cute when you’re annoyed like this.”

“I appear to have resigned myself to a life of mild to serious annoyance at your hands.”

“Lucky me,” Debbie grinned, stealing a kiss.

“‘I think the first time I see you,’” Rose began to recite dramatically from her reclined position, “‘I shall have to throw myself upon you like an animal, in expectation that you’ll huff and push me away, rendering the whole thing safely a joke… But you’ll put your hand on my knee, sneaky, like we’re being watched, and you’ll be close enough for me to smell your perfume. I can’t wait to savor your gentle rebuff.”

Rose sniffled and, because it was Rose, it was with genuine feeling. “I feel that I understand you on a deeper level than I did before.”

“See?” Debbie told Lou, gesturing up at their emoting guest, “I have given you a great gift.”

“Indeed, one for which I cannot wait to reciprocate. I don’t know how yet, but it will be positively Machiavellian, and you shan’t see it coming.”

“And I look forward to you teaching me a very _thorough_ lesson on the error of my ways.” Debbie loaded her words with entendre, waggling her eyebrows to ensure her message was received.

Lou shook her head affectionately. “Now, you’ve gone and made it sound like it’ll be fun.”

“Won’t it?” Debbie shone her most winning grin.

“I don’t know how I developed this terrible weakness for you.”

“Maybe you should ask a doctor about it.”

“Are y’all gonna stand there and flirt all evening, or are we gonna eat?” Nine Ball asked, piping up from a shadowed couch where she’d been ignoring the hubbub in favor of her computer screen.  

“Is the flirting thing an option?” Debbie asked.

“Do you really think I’m going to feed you lot after this betrayal?” was Lou’s response.

“‘For all that I love my motorcycle…’” Rose started up again, draping herself along the banister as she read, “‘I’m counting the days till I once again have to retire it in favor of something with a passenger seat. You even made that dreadful old magenta jalopy we borrowed from your uncle look chic, with you smirking at me from the passenger seat. I think I even miss the dreadful gas mileage of that behemoth.”

Constance sniggered, and Lou set her shoulders, arms akimbo. “Go on, laugh, get it out. Before I have to ritually murder you all.”

“I’m not laughing,” Amita said loyally.

“I’m laughing on the inside,” Nine Ball informed them, peering over her tinted glasses.

“I’m telling my husband he needs to step up his game,” Tammy said, holding up a scribbled-upon bit of wrapping paper for inspection.

“You know,” Debbie began casually, snaking an arm around Lou’s shoulders, “you’ve been talking a big game about killing people, and yet you haven’t even gone for those engraved-pearl-handle revolvers you keep strapped to the underside of the bed.”

Constance’s eyes lit up, and Lou pointed sharply at her, “Don’t even think about it. Tammy,” she pointed in turn at the blonde, “If she heads in the direction of the bedroom, I expect you to do whatever it takes to stop her.”

“I’ve got two kids, including a toddler,” Tammy told Constance firmly, “I’ve seen it all, and I’m prepared to bite you.”

Constance patted a palm to her own chest. “Alright. Respect.”

Amita wolf-whistled abruptly, waving a scrap of lavender stationery, “Hey, I found the juicy stuff!”

“What was that you said about removing the more personal ones?” Lou murmured to Debbie.

“Oh, I meant the really sad ones,” Debbie replied, “The sexy ones are definitely still in there.”

“You shouldn’t be embarrassed by your vibrant sexuality,” Tammy called down, earnestly.

“Thank you dear, I’m not,” Lou assured her with a smirk.

“Oh my,” Rose squeaked, turning an interesting shade of pink and dropping a dry cleaning receipt like it had suddenly caught fire.

“Can I steal this?” Constance asked, swiping up the abandoned scrap, “I’ve been writing some skateboarder/werewolf erotica in my spare time.”

“What an…interesting topic,” Lou said diplomatically, “And yes, it’s all yours.”

Constance gave a small fist pump while Rose still appeared to be recovering in the background.

“Did you find the one about how my legs looked on that moonlit beach in Aruba?” Debbie asked the crowd upstairs, “That was a favorite.”

“Uxoricide, remember,” Lou said cheerily, giving Debbie a firmer-than-necessary pat on the back, “consider it your word of the day.”

“There’s all this talk of marriage,” Tammy noted, disapproving, “but you’re still a pair of bachelorettes.”

“For real,” Constance chimed in, pointing finger guns at Lou, “you’d better put a ring on that before she flies away.”

“Oh, didn’t I tell you?” Lou tucked a lock of hair behind her ear, and when her hand returned to view it glittered with Debbie’s diamond, “she beat me to the punch.”

Tammy’s shriek of excitement could have shattered glass.

“Surprise,” Debbie drawled, miming throwing confetti, “you’re all at our engagement party.”

“For real?” Constance asked, while Tammy pushed past her to thunder down the stairs, Rose on her heels.

“Drama queens,” Nine Ball proclaimed, though she then shut the lid of her laptop and stood to linger around the edge of the circle of women.  

Tammy and Rose oohed and ahhed appreciatively, fluttering excited fingers over the ring.

“Damn,” Constance shot Debbie a judgmental look after sizing up the ring, “You skimpin’ on your girl? After all the dough you rolled up at the Met?”

“There is actually a rather touching story behind this diamond’s humble proportions,” Lou said, stepping in to defend Debbie’s honor, “a story I won’t be sharing with all you busybodies.”  

“Busybody? I resent that,” Tammy sniffed.

“You know, I was going to ask you to be my maid–no, matron?–of honor…” Debbie trailed off significantly.

“I resent nothing,” Tammy corrected happily, “And _yes_! Oh, it’ll be incredible, I’m envisioning a color scheme of pure white with gold accents…hanging flower arrangements–baby’s breath and roses, no, too obvious, maybe holly?—oh, and lanterns! So many lanterns –”

“Alright, alright, live your Pinterest-bride dreams, baby,” Nine Ball gave Tammy a brusque pat on the shoulder, “But I am seriously starving, so can we just congratulate these fools and get on with dinner?”

“Seconded,” Constance agreed.

“To the happy couple!” Tammy cheered, clapping enthusiastically until everyone else joined in.

“No need to applaud,” Daphne announced, slinking in the door looking like a dream and a half, “though I won’t stop you.”

“ _Ring_!” Tammy shouted by way of explanation, her exuberance apparently having rendered her monosyllabic.

Constance took Lou’s be-jeweled hand and waved it in the air for emphasis.

“Ooh, congratulations,” Daphne purred, “Though I’ll admit, I kinda thought you two were already married.”

“Didn’t we all,” Nine Ball rumbled, lip quirked up in a grin.

“I already knew,” Amita admitted in a rush, bouncing up on her heels, “about the engagement, I mean.”

“I recruited her to set the ring once I bought the diamond,” Debbie explained.

“How….nice,” Daphne came up short once she was close enough to inspect the ring herself. “Have we already commented on the, ahem, _modest_ size of the diamond?”

“You bet,” Constance confirmed.

“Apparently the reason is classified,” Nine Ball droned, “but more importantly, I think we need to feed Rose before she keels over.” She gestured over at the designer, who was sinking into a nearby chair and blinking rather rapidly.

“I’m fine, just got a bit overexcited, and I did skip breakfast…” she murmured, wiggling her fingers dismissively, “and that other meal that people say you’re supposed to eat in the middle of the day…”

“Alright, food for the fainting lady,” Debbie agreed, marching towards the kitchen.

The hosts of the evening procured some bread and water to revive Rose, and left Tammy in charge of tending her while they brought out the rest of the meal.

“That smells ah- _may_ -zing,” Amita said as Debbie brought out a massive casserole, fresh from the oven with the cheese still bubbling.

“Old family recipe,” Debbie smiled, “passed down from my mother.”

“Passed down from the back of an Uncle Ben’s instant meal box,” Lou said, sing-song.

“I added the cherry tomatoes,” Debbie replied, unconcerned, “And my mother loved cherry tomatoes. So, she passed that down.”

“I am fond of the things your mother gave you…” Lou smirked, swatting at Debbie’s behind as she swung past her with the side salad.

Tammy waited with ill-contained excitement until everyone was seated, before asking, “Can we talk more about the wedding?”

“Here we go…” Nine Ball shook her head, shoving a forkful of salad in her mouth.

“I suspect they’ll be intolerable until the whole affair is over,” Daphne confided in a mock whisper.

“Aw, like you wouldn’t fuss over every detail when you get married—well, _if_ you get married,” Debbie amended delicately.

Daphne gasped, her mouth forming a perfect shocked “o.”

“Damn, I love Sunday dinner,” Constance grinned, eyes following Daphne and Debbie’s ensuing exchange of barbs like the intense game of verbal ping-pong it was.

“It’s certainly never boring,” Amita agreed.

After Debbie had both reestablished her conversational dominance and settled Daphne’s ruffled ego, she turned to Tammy.

“Now, sweetheart, I know you’re excited about the whole MOH thing, but this is my wedding—"

“Our wedding, honey,” Lou corrected.

“Our wedding,” Debbie amended. “And I’ve done a lot of planning already. The guest list, seating arrangements–there are some very colorful characters in my family who can’t be within thirty feet of each other unless we want the event’s entertainment to be no-gloves boxing –as well as a menu, some thoughts on potential centerpieces, a definite preference on flowers–nothing pastel pink, and no daises, those set off Lou’s allergies–and I won’t budge on having a DJ, I wanna take Lou out on the floor to the original rendition of Dancing Queen, not some half-assed string quartet’s mangled idea of it.”

“First of all, if you think our first dance is going to be to an ABBA song, you’ve lost your mind,” Lou inserted into the conversation, “and second…when exactly in the last two days since you popped the question did you have time to think up all that?”

“Last two days, are you kidding?” Debbie looked at Lou from under her lashes, “I told you, after three years in the clink, the Met heist was running like clockwork. Didn’t need more than a mental tune up every couple of months. What do you think I was planning with those other two years?”

If not for years of practice controlling her facial expressions under duress, Lou’s jaw may have dropped. But, as it was, she just grabbed hold of the back of Debbie’s chair and shoved at it until she could get her arms around the other woman and pull her into a fierce kiss.

Debbie let out a surprised “mmph!” before melting into the embrace.

“Gross,” Constance laughed, elbowing Amita in the ribs, “our moms are kissing.”

Lou released her hold on Debbie with one last tug of teeth at her bottom lip. She sat back, making a show of straightening Debbie’s now thoroughly rumpled blouse. 

“I finally understand why you left those damned notes where they could be found,” Lou said, satisfied with her deduction. “You were trying to set _me_ up as the hopeless romantic, to make you look like less of an absolute softie.”

“It half-worked,” Amita smiled, “Now we just think you’re _both_ totally –”

“Uselessly–” Daphne cut in, smug.

“Admirably–” Tammy corrected.

“–In love as all hell,” Nine Ball finished.

“A toast!” Rose declared, lifting her wine glass aloft, “To true love!”

The table raised their glasses with varying degrees of irony and good-natured scoffing, Debbie and Lou making the biggest show of rolling their eyes.

“I’m pretty sure I filmed a scene _exactly_ like this in a trashy romcom with a guy who looked like Michael Fassbender’s older and much less attractive brother,” Daphne commented, tossing back her rosé like a shot of whiskey.

“Ah, thank you dear,” Lou doffed an imaginary hat in the actress’ direction, “for disrupting the otherwise intolerable sentimentality of the moment.”

“Yes,” Debbie added, “I was actually hoping you might play that role at our wedding too. And maybe speak to Frederick Dubois on our behalf.”

“Frederick Du-who?” Constance asked.

“He is both the lead conservator of the Met Cloisters and Daphne’s ex-boyfriend-but-still-on-friendly-terms. At least, according to the cyberstalking I had Nine Ball do for me.” Debbie smiled across the table at the hacker, who tossed up a peace sign in response.

“Oh, Daph,” Nine Ball added, “you should seriously improve your passwords, unless you _want_ the next celeb nude leak splashed all over the tabloids to be yours.”

“Maybe I do,” Daphne retorted.

“I think we’d all look forward to that bit of journalism,” Lou said graciously.

“Thank you,” Daphne preened. “But what’s this about Freddie?”

“Well, I think he could give us a hand in getting the right permits to have our wedding in the central Cloister gardens.”

Daphne frowned. “I don’t think he has the pull to make that happen.”

“Really? Even if you motivated him?” Debbie asked, nonchalant.

Daphne hmmed thoughtfully, while Lou turned to Debbie with an incredulous eyebrow raise. “Really? You want to have the ceremony at a site owned by the very people from whom we just purloined many millions of dollars?”

“Yeah.” Debbie grinned around a forkful of casserole, “Surprised?”

“I shouldn’t be.”

“Charmed?”

“Definitely not.” If Lou had a long-standing passion for Medieval art of the exact type that was housed at the Cloisters, well, everyone at the table didn’t need to know it.

“I suppose it’s true what they say, about criminals having a compulsion to return to the scene of the crime,” Tammy noted, brow drawn.

“It’s kinda neurotic,” Constance diagnosed.

“It’s definitely obsessive,” Amita admitted.

“But, I mean…you’re not going to steal something, are you?” Rose wondered, despairingly, “Not on your wedding day?”

“Of course not,” Debbie shook her head seriously.

Rose gauged her expression and didn’t seem comforted. “Why don’t I believe you?”

Debbie reached across the table to pat Rose’s hand. “Because you’ve grown as a person. But on a different note, I _was_ hoping we could persuade you to design Lou and I’s respective wedding ensembles?”

“Oh!” Rose’s eyes went wide, all traces of concern washing away as she gushed, “It would be my honor!”

“Isn’t it funny how a crew for a heist matches up almost perfectly with the team you need to put together a classy wedding?” Debbie mused, looking pleased with herself. “Tammy has her role, Nine Ball and Daphne are gonna help out with security and the location, Amita helped me get the perfect ring, Rose has got our look on lockdown, and Constance…” Debbie paused, before finishing casually, “Constance will be there to help out with the robbery we’re definitely not gonna commit.”

The table broke out into a medley of laughter and mild scolding, with Constance slapping the table and letting out a celebratory whoop, while Tammy shook her head and murmured, “I need to start going to church again.”

“The Unicorn Tapestries?” Lou guessed the target, thinking through the Cloisters’ exhibits. “Those would be a real bugger to transport.”

“True. But we need something new to hang over the living room couch,” Debbie shrugged, “The Pollock is getting a bit old.”

“Well, heaven forbid our décor grow blasé.”

Debbie smiled her trademark ‘I’m adorable and I know it’ smile. Lou couldn’t resist leaning in to steal a taste of it.

“Ooh!” Amita interrupted excitedly, “Sorry, your little dinner-table make-out session reminded me to tell you guys – that software engineer I met on Tinder asked me on a second date!”

“That weirdly hot nerd with the pompadour?” Daphne asked for confirmation, Amita nodding happily. Daphne set her fork down and laced her hands under her chin. “Tell us _everything_.”

The conversation drifted through the state of everyone’s respective love lives, then moved on to a discussion of the merits of various Oscar nominees, a brief foray into electoral politics (before everyone agreed that was spoiling their appetites), a rousing debate over the quality of modern pop music, and an impassioned defense of the scone as an underappreciated baked good.

The evening finally concluded after second helpings of Tammy’s homemade blueberry crumble and a round of coffee. Constance convinced Amita to continue the evening at a nearby bar, and the two headed out in an Uber with a wave goodbye. Tammy kindly led an inebriated Rose out to her taxi, pouring her into the backseat before driving off in her own sensible minivan. Daphne slid behind the wheel of her sleek onyx Jaguar, shouting, “Just let me know if you want Gucci or Saint Laurent for a wedding present,” as her farewell. No one saw Nine Ball leave, but since she wasn’t in the house, they decided she must have disappeared into the night at some point.

“Well, baby,” Debbie said, hooking an arm around Lou’s waist as they shut and locked the front door behind them, “the kids are all tucked in, and we’ve got the place to ourselves. Should we go watch _I Love Lucy_ reruns? Maybe even hold hands?”

“How forward of you,” Lou said drily, “But that does remind me of something I wanted to ask: during your extended stay on the government’s dime, did you perchance do any planning in regard to our honeymoon?”

Debbie reeled Lou in tight before murmuring, “Oh, yes.”

“Do you think I could possibly get a sneak preview?”

“Well, it’s pretty exclusive. Tickets are very hard to come by. Even Brad Pitt and that hot villain from the new Marvel blockbuster couldn’t get in.”

“Hmm, but I believe I might have an in with the director.”

“I believe I…have lost track of this metaphor,” Debbie admitted. “You should probably just kiss me before I get hopelessly confused.”

“I’ll do just that. But first!”

Debbie pouted as Lou did an about face and headed over to the coat closet. After a minute of shifting and a few loud clunks, she returned with a medium-sized box done up in tasteful silver wrapping.

“I’ve got a present,” Lou announced.

“Really?” Debbie cooed, reaching for the box.

Lou chuckled, holding it out before snatching it back out of Debbie’s grasp. “For myself.”

Debbie paused, then squinted at Lou. “I think you haven’t quite grasped the concept of ‘present.’”

“Haven’t I?” Lou asked innocently, tearing open the box without ceremony and lifting out something thin, black, and lacy. “It’s fancy lingerie, you see.”

Debbie nodded with wide eyes, “I do see.”

“Which I’m going to wear.”

“Oh…” Debbie cottoned on, “And I get to see you in it–”

Lou cut in, “And then take it off of me–”

“Yes, that too,” Debbie agreed fervently.

“Ergo…” Lou trailed off leadingly.

“This is actually a present for _me_ ,” Debbie determined.

“Knew you’d get there eventually,” Lou said, “You’re brighter than most people think.”

“Aw, you say the sweetest things. I wonder, will all this romance stick around after the wedding bells have rung?” Debbie propped her head up on her hand, waxing melodramtic, “Or will I just be your poor old wife, with dishpan hands and no mysteries left for you to plumb?”

“I’ve never heard a more preposterous thing in my life,” Lou replied, tone leaving no room for doubt, “But, because I feel that it should be said, and I don’t want you developing some sort of complex because I don’t say it enough: I do love you. Very much. More than I ever thought I’d allow myself to feel for one lone person.”

“Stop, you’re gonna make me blush.”

“Hardly, considering you’ve been able to blush, cry, and faint on command since you were a tween.”

“That’s true. You really do know me. And I guess you really do love me, too.”

“Indeed,” Lou agreed, tapping a finger against her cheek as she waited.

“And I…” Debbie began slowly.

“Go on,” Lou prodded.

“I love you….r sense of style.”

Lou sighed, but there was no bitterness in it. She knew what she’d signed up for.

“Your suits are somehow more than just bespoke,” Debbie continued on, “it’s delicious. And probably illegal in some states.”

“Thank you, darling.”

“And I love your endless stores of patience.”

Lou inched closer, taking the lingerie and running it meaningfully through her fingers, “Not as endless as you may think.”

“I love the way you look at me when you think I’m being ridiculous.”

“So, the way I look at you _all the time_.”

Debbie took the lacy garment from her hands and tossed it around Lou’s shoulders, using it to pull her in close. “I love how smart you are, and funny, and level-headed and independent and deeply, heartwrenchingly caring, despite how hard you try not to be. I love how you saw a screw-up ex-con and a bunch of mid-life crises waiting to happen, and you helped make it a team and a family.”

Lou waited a moment to collect herself, making sure she wouldn’t sound as choked up as she felt when she finally replied, “And you act like you don’t know how to say ‘I love you.’”

“I haven’t said those words in that order since I was in pigtails.”

“That’s quite alright. If I needed traditional declarations of devotion on a regular basis, I’d hardly have gotten engaged to you, would I?”

“You deserve it though,” Debbie said, running a hand through Lou’s hair, just a touch of wistfulness in the gesture.

“I deserve you,” Lou revised.

Debbie smiled, the kind that just barely tugged at the corner of her mouth because it was busy living in her eyes. “Then may you always get exactly what you deserve.”

“Well…maybe not _exactly_ what I deserve,” Lou laughed.

“Do you know what _I_ deserve?” Debbie murmured, tilting forward to nip at Lou’s jaw.

“To see how unbearably sexy this really quite itchy lace looks on me, before tearing it off in a bout of uncontrollable passion?” Lou suggested, tilting her head back to allow Debbie better access.

 Debbie mouthed enthusiastically at the column of Lou’s throat, “Yes, that.”

“Well, come on then, don’t lounge around all night,” Lou turned to head for the stairs up to their bedroom, but Debbie veered off towards the dining room table.

“Don’t you even think about–” Lou started, when she realized what Debbie was up to.

“Sorry!” Debbie called happily over her shoulder as she swept her arms across the table, sending its contents tumbling to the ground with a tremendous crash, “Can’t hear you!”

Lou put her hands on her hips and bit the inside of her cheek to keep from laughing, maintaining a look of stern disapproval with herculean effort. “You’re cleaning that up,” she told Debbie firmly.

“I think we both know I’m not,” Debbie grinned, playing coquettishly with the hem of her shirt.

“You’re impossible.”

“I’m charmingly free-spirited.”

“The two are apparently not mutually exclusive.”

Debbie scooted onto the table and gave an enticing little shimmy until Lou broke.

“Alright, why the hell not,” Lou marched forward, undoing the buttons of her shirt with a no-nonsense sort of air, “but you’re buying me a large, painfully expensive set of china as a wedding gift.”

“Deal. It’ll be my first order of business after we get back from Paris.”

“Rome,” Lou countered, “I insist on seeing the Vatican.”

“Sounds good. In fact, why not hit up all of the Mediterranean while we’re over there?”

“Why not, indeed. Though, this honeymoon’s beginning to sound rather extravagant. Are you sure we even need to have this fabulous dining-table-sex, if we’re going to be shaking it up across half the European continent?”

“You know me,” Debbie smirked, popping the catch on Lou’s trousers with the kind of precision that can only come from practice, “I always want more than my fair share.”

**Author's Note:**

> if anyone could pull off a heist-wedding, it's these two, amirite??  
> <3


End file.
